As a rookie in the Atlantic City, N.J., Police department, I was assigned a beat on the boardwalk. Hardly a day went by when I didn't come upon a child who had become separated from his parents.
　   
One afternoon, I spotted a small boy standing alone, obviously lost. I tried to gain his confidence - I took him to the nearest ice-cream stand and bought him a cone. Time passed with no sign of the boy's parents, so the next step was to call for a patrol car to take him to headquarters. I told the small fry to stay put while I went to the call box. When I returned, he was nowhere in sight.

   
Within minutes, the car arrived, and one of the patrolmen asked me where the child was. I felt stupid; it's humiliating to say you've lost a lost child. But I told the officers what had happened and gave a description of the boy. "What did you treat him?" asked one of the men.
   
"An ice-cream cone. Why?"
　   
"Because," answered the officer, "that kid lives only a few blocks from here, and you've about the fifth rookie he's conned for a treat!"